THANKSGIVING WITH MY FAMILY

©2008 by Richard S. Crawford

about 1600 words

Download as PDF | Download as HTML

“Turkeys don’t usually cry in the oven, do they?” I asked my mother.

My mother told me to be quiet and to go into the other room and play with my cousins. My cousins were very young and wanted to play with their cartoon superhero action figures. I wanted to go into my bedroom to read a book, so that’s where I started to go.

“Hold it right there, Champ.” My father caught me by the arm as I tried to sneak past him and into the hallway to get to my room. A rolled up newspaper was in his left hand. He caught me with his right hand. “You’re going to stay in the living room and be sociable like any normal civilized human being.”

“But I want to read my book!” I whined stupidly, like a little kid.

“Tough. You go in the other room and play with your cousins.” he went back to the paper, quoting stock prices and football scores at Grampa, who nodded his head like a wise old man.

Grampa’s carving knife rested next to him on the arm of the sofa. I wondered why he hadn’t cleaned it since cutting the turkey’s belly open, but didn’t ask. He looked grumpy. Mother would be angry when she had to try to get the blood off of the upholstery.

“Go on!” My father ordered when he saw that I hadn’t moved.

I went on, dragging my feet on the carpet as I left. Richie and Jamie were in the family room, playing with plastic dinosaurs and some modeling clay. There was a movie playing on the TV, something with a baby dinosaur and some friends trying to find something. My cousins were acting out the movie with their toys as it played. I slumped into the easy chair and stared at the screen, trying to ignore my stupid cousins. I wanted to read my book, and do it in private. I really hated Thanksgiving.

“Here!” Jamie cried out, handing me a yellow plastic dinosaur with big green eyes. “You be Baby Trike!” She giggled up at me inanely.

I took the dinosaur and looked it over. It was stupid looking and hollow. I tossed it across the room and it landed on the beanbag chair next to the television. Jamie cried out and scampered after it. I grinned at my small triumph.

The turkey kept screaming in the oven. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” Mother said, stomping imperiously over to the oven and opening it. “Screaming won’t make it any better, you know.” She slammed the oven shut and went back to the sink where she was rinsing off potatoes. “Lord preserve me. Why your grandfather won’t cut off their heads like in the old days, I just don’t know.”

I picked up the remote control to the television and turned up the volume, trying to drown out the turkey. In spite of myself, I was getting drawn into the movie, and my cousins were annoying me. “Why don’t you go play with someone outside?” I demanded.

Jamie looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “You know Father won’t let us play with the other kids,” she said. “How come you don’t play outside?”

“I don’t like getting dirty,” I said. “Shut up, I wanna watch the movie.”

Jamie shut up. She clambered up onto the chair next to me, snuggled up close, and stuck her thumb into her mouth. I put my arm around her because I didn’t want her to feel too bad, and the two of us sat and watched the movie while Richie continued to act out the movie with the toy dinosaurs — quietly, thank God. They were such children.

*

The turkey wasn’t screaming as much as it had been, but every time Mother opened the oven door to baste it, it let out a fresh whoop of pain. Fortunately, it got softer each time. Finally it stopped screaming altogether, though it did whimper a little. Mother shook her finger at it, but it didn’t shut up. I didn’t think it could see anymore, because its eyes would have been blinded by the oven’s heat.

I was helping Mother prepare the cranberry sauce. The spleen squished between my fingers as I squeezed it dry, pouring the sauce onto the cranberries. This was my favorite part. That and stitching up the turkey when its spleen and some of the other organs had been taken out.

Mother was sharpening Grampa’s carving knife on the whetstone. Grampa was still sitting on the couch. Since his legs were eaten last year, he didn’t do much of anything anymore. That was before Mother had gotten the bigger oven put in. Grampa always looks grumpy these days, but he doesn’t complain much. Not since the accident that hurt his throat.

My cousins were watching a different movie now, one with ghosts and witches and monsters. I thought that that kind of scary movie was stupid, so I was helping Mother in the kitchen. Mother wouldn’t let me look at the turkey.

“Aunt Heather! Aunt Heather!” the children cried, suddenly running into the kitchen.

Mother made an exasperated noise and turned to the kids. “What on earth do you want?”

“The movie’s over,” Richie explained. “Can we take some knives and go hunting outside?”

“I don’t see why not,” Mother said. She opened the silverware drawer and took out pair of short knives. She handed them to the children. “Be careful with those,” she said. “They’re very sharp.”

“We’ll be careful,” Jamie said. They ran out the front door recklessly. Their cries and shouts were just barely audible when the front door shut.

Father came into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “Is there any beer left?” he asked.

“There’s a whole six pack of Miller,” Mother said. “Look behind the salad.”

“Ah!” Father took one of the beers out, and I heard him open the can. “That’s the stuff,” he said happily. “Dad!” he shouted towards the living room. “Do you want a beer?”

“Yeh,” Grampa’s hoarse voice floated back.

Father took another beer out of the refrigerator and headed out.

“Father?” I said before he’d stepped through the door. “Can I have a sip of beer?”

Father chuckled. “I’m sorry, you’re far too young.”

“Please!”

“That’s enough!” Mother snapped. She thrust some plates into my hand. “Go set the table. And mind that you don’t knock it over this time!”

I did what she said, being careful like she warned.

Uncle Howard came back inside the house, finished with his walk. “How’s she holding?” he said, opening the oven door. “Looks great!”

“Best one ever,” Mother said. “Now go in the living room and stay out of the way. Scoot!”

We were all starving by the time the turkey was finally ready to eat. Richie and Jamie came back in with the neighbor’s cat and were told that they could make a pie from it for dessert if they wanted to. Uncle Howard would have to help them out, though.

“I get the eyes, I get the eyes!” Jamie cried out when the turkey was laid out on the table and we had all said grace. Its flesh was still pink in most places, shiny glazed brown in others. It looked delicious, and Mother had dressed it in the blue dress it had worn when it drove up with Uncle Howard and my cousins. Mother was a good cook.

“Now , you know your father gets the eyes,” Mother said to my cousins, expertly using a spoon to slide them out of the sockets. She had some trouble with the optic nerves, but she took a small sharp knife and cut through them. She put them on Uncle Howard’s plate.

“Wait for the sauce,” Grampa rasped as he slit the turkey’s belly open with his carving knife. He reached in, grasped the pancreas and squeezed it over the eyes on Howard’s plate. Uncle Howard licked his lips noisily. “A feast fit for a king,” he sighed.

“I want a breast!” I said. Grampa sliced one off and put it on my plate. I drenched it with the cranberry sauce.

The whole meal was delicious, even the pie we had for dessert, though I had always thought that the neighbor’s cat would have been too tough to eat. Mother took dainty, lady-like bites, while Grampa and Father both ate greedily.

When the meal was over and Grampa had been tied back into the closet, Father sat in the living room, watching the game and wiping his eyes.

Mother came in and sat next to him. “What’s wrong?” she asked him.

“I was just wishing that my sister could have eaten supper with us,” he said. “She would have loved it.”

“We all have to take our turns,” said Mother sweetly, kissing Father on the cheek. “And besides, she’ll always be with us inside.”

I heard the toilet flush at that moment. Jamie came out of the bathroom, still adjusting her flowery dress.

“Well, for a few hours, at least,” Father said, also watching. Then he and Mother laughed at his joke.